On your way to burning they found you
Merchants of instant promises
To replace the pain and suffering
With all lost through years of pure illness

This rose has fucking thorns
That cute the conscious out
Theyï¿½ll trophy hunt your life
From the confines of a cage

They aim to build a hate among
Those who fear
They trap you and they bleed you
To profiteer
For temporary healing
Lies a toll
Reminded by your saviour
You owe your soul

Can you conjure strength to fight
The jaws of the quicksand
That feels a meal is best served with
A side of extortion
Youï¿½ve got to break the curse and taste
Realities sweet air
And break away from the dark age
Brought on by despair